


Domicile

by sunflowerwonder



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Domestic Relationship, Established Relationship, M/M, Sibling Incest, Stridercest - Freeform, Twin Striders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerwonder/pseuds/sunflowerwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a walking disaster of an overworked computer genius, and you're way too tired to be functional, but somehow you work together.</p><p>(Domestic Stridercest written for a friend)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domicile

There was something oddly familiar about home. The crisp scent that most probably wouldn’t enjoy, the cool temperature the two of you always kept the thermostat at, the golden glow of dawn shining through your shaded widows and revealing the early hour, everything. You liked it here, with your unconventional little lifestyle. You liked it here with him.

Him, of which, was lying on the couch and staring lazily at the ceiling, laptop discarded but open on the floor. His stupid but ironic anime shades were pushed up onto his forehead, and his almost glowing orange eyes drifted down from the water damage patterns of the drywall to your face.

“Long night?” he asked with a bored tone as you set your bag down and made your way over to him.

“Should be asking you the same thing,” you replied in an equally monotone voice as you sat yourself next to him and plucked his shades all the way off. From your closer view you could tell how tired his eyes were, dark circles contrasting starkly against his pale freckled cheeks that were the evidence of how often he went outside.

“Nah. I took a power nap for like an hour and a half. Doing pretty good now.”

You were in too exhausted of a state to argue with him, because if he did take a nap it sure didn’t look like it helped at all, but instead you opted for crawling in next to him. Your bedroom was just down the hallway, but you’d always liked being with him more. You supposed that came from spending your entire life with him, but whatever. He was used to you being clingy anyway. He instinctively moved over for you until he was resting on his side rather than his back, and wrapped an arm around your chest like he always did to spoon you. You felt yourself relax. Usually you’d be the one holding him, but you didn’t mind the change every once in a while.

“You shouldn’t take so much work, you know. I know you hate programming for other people. Especially those douchebags I’ve seen you work with,” you say offhandedly. You hated people who treated your Bro like he was scum. Overworking him like he was a machine. You didn’t care how much they were paying him. 

He snickers softly, nuzzling his face into the back of your hair.

“Nuh-uh, lil’ bro. Do I look like the type of person who’s gonna sit by and watch his boyfriend be the breadwinner and the housewife? I think not. That’s an insult to domestic America.”

“I think we’ve already fucked up domestic America, Bro,” you retort.

“Yeah but we’re badasses so society’s rules don’t apply,” he states simply before planting a soft kiss to the back of your ear, “besides we’re getting along just fine, aren’t we?”

You smiled a bit.

“Yeah. Nothing beats coming home to a trashy flat with school looming over the horizon.”

The truth was you were doing okay though. 

The minute you’d both turned eighteen (or rather, when he turned eighteen and then you did ten minutes later) you’d booked it to the nearest big city, which happened to be Houston. You’d found jobs fairly quickly; he screwed around on computers while you spun at clubs on weekends and worked a nightshift on weekdays. Between the both of you rent was paid monthly on a shitty apartment you liked to call home, and it also paid for the college classes he was making you attend. You’d convinced him that if anything he should have been the one getting the diploma, considering he was the genius of the two of you while you were as average as they came, but he wouldn’t have any of that. He had a serious big-brother complex for barely being older than you. And on the flipside you had a desperate desire to protect him from everything that could ever hurt him. You were perfect for each other in the most fucked up way. Sometimes it almost scared you.

“What time are your classes today?” he said softly, settling his head down softly in the crook of your neck.

You groaned.

“Just get home from working all night, tired and exhausted, and the first thing you bring up is school. Way to be sympathetic Bro, it’s a miracle you have a guy who puts up with your shit.”

“Dave,” he said sternly, making him feel much older while you subsequently were reduced to the emotional state of a child.

“My first one’s at nine. I’ve got a few hours to kill,” you mumbled with a bit of a whiney tone.

He lifted his head up to lean over you and plant a soft chaste kiss on your lips, and you were reminded of how much you loved this prick of a loser. He unfortunately pulled away all too quickly, and you let out a soft whimper in response.

“Still a needy fucker as ever, huh.”

“Shut up and kiss me again, asshole.”

He gave you his signature smirk, which you knew all too well considering you could make the exact same one when you looked in the mirror. You know deep down in that twisted mind of his he wanted to ignore your request, just for the simple act of messing with you. He shook his head though. And kissed you again, longer this time, and deeper, and you turned yourself over to make the angle less awkward while reaching up to grab his hair to pull him even closer.

He backed off quickly. You let out a loud breath of frustration.

“Nope. Not today, little bro. Get some sleep, you’ve got school.”

He untangled himself from you, managing to get up from where he’d been lying against the back of the couch and leap over the top of it with the gracefulness that he always carried around the house. He alighted on his feet, barely making a sound, and flashstepped away. 

He returned a few seconds later, the ironic My Little Pony comforter from his bottom bunk of your equally ironic bunk-bed in his arms, and promptly dumped it on top you.  
“Way to make a girl feel special,” you muttered, though you appreciated it when he planted another soft peck against your forehead and slipped off your own aviator shades.

You flattened out the blanket and curled up into it. While it didn’t have quite the same effect as your bro’s arms, it felt nice to be embraced by its warmth. 

“Love you, Bro.”

Your voice sounded pitifully weak, but you couldn’t give a fuck you were so tired. You hoped he could here you from where he sat at the rickety old card table the two of you had made your personal dining room. You could hear the faint tapping of keys from where he was already hard back at work. When there wasn’t an answer you didn’t feel like you had the strength to work up another syllable, so you instead let yourself fall into the hazy warmth that fabric Twilight Sparkle was currently giving you and allowing your eyes to fall into a lazy droop.

“’Night, Dave. Love you too.”


End file.
